On Returning Home
A poem by Keith Gorman
On Returning Home
Shaggy hedges climb high around
the mildewed shingles of the old yellow house
like husky green leaves—the neck scarfs
jacketing the late June rose.
Over the unkempt lawn, small pockets of time
rewind among the sleepy grasses:
two blue-jeaned boys, forever mothballed
in a clackity haze of home movie reels
where words are borne upon aprons of sunlight
and familiar breezes. Old names, faces
and traces of my father linger with the clean
scent of freshly hewn applewood
which once fell to his smoky saw. I step
to the porch. I remember the hands—the fingers
pressing quick-set cement: two eager tykes
leaving their love on the cellar floor.
About the Author:
Keith Gorman is a retired factory worker, poet, and classical guitarist who lives in Eastern Tennessee near the foothills of the Great Smoky Mountains. He received his BM degree from the Sherwood Conservatory of Music in Chicago, Illinois. His poetry has been published in various journals, including Verse-Virtual, Delta Poetry Review, I-70 Review, Muddy River Poetry Review, Chiron Review, Impspired Magazine, and The California Quarterly Review.
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Poetry Breakfast 
October 10, 2024 at 1:48 PM
Your words have such depth and emotion. Each image you paint feels like a glimpse into a world where time stands still, where love and memory are intertwined. The way you evoke the past, especially your connection with your father, is incredibly moving. It’s as if those moments are etched into the very fabric of the world around you, and they live on with every step you take toward that porch. Beautifully written and so heartfelt.
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October 10, 2024 at 1:44 PM
Your imagery is stunning. It’s like each memory is a living, breathing piece of the past. The connection you feel to your father and those moments of childhood is palpable. The way you bring those emotions to the surface with such grace is truly beautiful.
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